Until Dreams Take Me
by Une-fleur-m'a-dit
Summary: Kurt finds a feather, a simple feather. Little does he know that it belongs to a dark angel that only he is able to see. KLAINE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note : Don't worry, I like happy endings too!**

* * *

It was a feather. Only a feather. But strikingly beautiful, like an offering from a giant raven's king. Like night itself had laid on it to rest. Kurt brought it to the tip of his nose, just to feel its silky softness. It smelled like... the stars, like the pale reflection of the moon on the surface of a lake. Like the crispy chill of the first winter wind. He shivered.

''Going after the birds too, Hummo?'' the idiotic voice of Karosky greeted him half a second before the cold metal of the lockers did.

Kurt stayed on the floor until the pathetic laughers couldn't be heard anymore, bringing a hand up to his bruised cheek, rage in his eyes.

Blood dribbled from his chin, down the pale skin of his wrist. His jacket would be ruined. Oh, well. It wouldn't be the first time, neither the last.  
He gathered his books, paying little to no attention to the ringing of the bell, to the way the empty corridor now seemed to hum with silence. His eyes fell on the feather he had dropped, looking so out of place on the dirty tiles. Almost reverently, he slipped it in his History book, fingers tainted with blood.

''New day, same fights, right?'' he murmured in a quivering sight.

Slamming the door of his locker, he made his way to his class, chin held high.

New day, new bruises.

* * *

''What is _that_?''

Rachel's shriek made Finn jump in his seat and then all of New Directions' eyes were glued to Kurt's face.

He had expected it, but it would have been nice to skip the melodrama, for once. ''Had a little encounter with Frankenstein this morning'', he said lightly, taking a seat next to Mercedes.

She was watching him with _those_ eyes, the ones that said _Next time, I'll squash him under my shoe like the little disgusting worm that he is, _but Kurt knew that next time would be the same. She meant well, she was his best friend, but what could she do against Karofsky? Sing him to death?

''Kurt, maybe you should go to the infirmary...'' Tina said.

Mike nodded his approval.

''It's only a tiny scratch.''

''It doesn't look like a tiny scratch to me'', Sam said, his hamburger half-way to his mouth.

Kurt sighed, trying to ignore the way Rachel was leaning over the table like he was a magnet.

''Think about your career, Kurt. It could leave a scar,'' she whispered, eyes burning dangerously.

He took a mouthful of his salad, preventing him from answering. He chewed slowly, suddenly not hungry at all, almost feeling sick. There was a lump in his throat.

Couldn't they see? It had already left a scar.

* * *

That evening, Kurt went to bed early, slowly dragging the feather across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his lips. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry anymore. He doubted he had any tears left. He just felt so... tired. Empty. Guilty. His dad shouldn't have to worry about him, yet Kurt clamed up whenever But tried to talk to him. And he hadn't been happy with Kurt's poor excuse about his new bruise. ''I doubt a tree went out of his way to punch you in the face, kiddo.''

''It was windy,'' Kurt had replied, throwing his half-brother a brief -and very threatening- glance.

Finn, miserable, had looked ready to dive in his soup.

He let the feather fall on his pillow, even darker than the darkness of his room.

''Sweet dreams, Kurt,'' he murmured before closing his eyes.

* * *

The first time he saw _him_, it was on the last day of November. It was only for a short moment, and Kurt thought he had imagined it at first. He had been rummaging in his locker for his umbrella because, well, it was November and rain had been a bitch since morning. He hadn't turned to him because _he_ had called out, neither because of a sixth sense. He had looked up because he could _feel _his gaze, as if cool fingers had brushed against the nape of his neck. In the whirlwind and the chaos of the ever-babbling students had stood a dark silhouette, not tall -definitely not tall, but imposing by its elegance. Black wings -yes, wings- half-spread on his sides, he had taken a lingering look at Kurt before disappearing in the mass of students.

Kurt had stared hard, unblinking, rooted in his spot until Quinn had bumped his shoulder with a smile, asking if he had seen a ghost.

''I think I did,'' he had said, voice not quite steady.

* * *

It had took all he had to convince himself that he was not, in fact, going crazy. Seated at his vanity, he had stared accusingly at the feather for hours until Finn had come in -without knocking, of course - to ask him if he was alright. ''Are you OK, man? I mean, even I don't stare into space that long and... look, do you want warm milk, or something?''

Kurt had turned around and lifted the feather to Finn's face. ''Can you see this?''

Finn had taken a step back, looking at Kurt like he had grown a third head. ''Hum...yeah?''

Kurt had _humphed_, scrunching his face like it hadn't been the good answer.

''I'll just... leave you alone, I guest...'' Finn had said before closing the door softly behind him, maybe not to disturb Kurt in his insanity.

* * *

December usually meant sales and pre-Christmas frenzy, but this year, Kurt wasn't in the mood. His eyes kept catching sight of the angel, whether it was at school or at the mall, in his backyard or in his dreams. At first it unsettled him, making him nervous and on edge, always waiting for the next apparition. But as time passed, he felt curiosity growing almost stronger than fear. Who was he? Why was he watching Kurt? Was he his guardian angel? If that was the case then he was doing a very lousy job at it. Kurt was still getting the slushies' facials, the shoving into the lockers and the verbal harassment.

And why was no one noticing him? When he was in a crowd, it was as if he was a natural obstacle, nobody looking at him, but everybody stepping out of his way. He could stand right beside Mr. Shue during Glee club and no one would react.

Then, one night, at diner, Kurt suddenly bolted out of his chair because the angel was in his _freaking living-room_, and Burt almost had another heart-attack.

And that was it, Kurt decided. It had to stop.

* * *

_Do you remember, Blaine, that no bird sang that day? Do you remember the gray of the sky, the elegance of the bare trees? I remember you. Dark against the virgin snow, eyes speaking of wonders unseen and unheard of. _

Kurt's fingers felt numb from the cold, even around his cup of Grande Non Fat Mocha. He had decided that if he was going to have a conversation with an invisible angel, he certainly didn't want to do it in front people. His sexual orientation wouldn't be the only cause of his bullying.

It was a gloomy Saturday afternoon, clouds heavy with the promise of snow. Still, Kurt couldn't help but find a certain charm to the woods behind the park. Maybe because they suited his mood. As he strolled between the trees, he felt his heart grow heavy. He could feel the graze on the nape of his neck again, the silent presence of the angel behind him. He lifted his eyes to the darkening sky, came to a halt.

''I don't care if you have a good reason for stalking me or if it's because you're bored, but this little game needs to stop.''

He turned around slowly, and surely, the angel was there. But Kurt had never seen him this close and _oh_... He was beautiful. Black hair a mess in the winter wind and so curly Kurt doubted he could have run his fingers through it and his eyes... They were like two wells of golden light, sequins of deep green catching its brightness. Kurt bit the inside of his cheek, taking in his dark, long lashes, the sheer melancholy he seemed to exhale. He was entirely clad in black, fingers brushing against the hem of the long sleeves. The angel's clothes clearly weren't appropriate for the chilly weather and -Kurt's eyebrows went heaven-way- he wasn't wearing any boots. Barefoot, he stood on the snow like Kurt would stand on grass, seemingly as light as a flake, ribbons fluttering around his ankles like the softest chains.

The angel was looking right back at him, his giant wings like a stormy cloud behind him. He didn't show any reaction, like he hadn't heard Kurt.

Kurt took a step towards him, frowning. ''I told you I want you to stop following me and popping up out of nowhere whenever you feel like it.''

Something flicked in the angel's slowly widening eyes. He tilted his head, studying him with so much intensity Kurt thought he would combust on the spot. A hot blush crawled to his face under the angel's scrutiny, despite the cold.

''You can... see me?''

Kurt huffed out a breath. ''Of course I can see you,'' he said sharply. ''Why do you think I freak out every time you appear?''

The angel stared at him in disbelief, his whisper almost inaudible. ''Fuck me.''

Ok, impolite angel.

''Well,'' Kurt said, bitchy face back in place, ''Stop stalking me. It's disturbing.''

The angel snorted. Kurt felt himself blush once more, but this time he was insulted.

''I'm afraid it's not that simple, Lima Boy.'' He took a step toward Kurt, a sad smile tugging at the end of his lips, but his eyes strangely cold. ''I can't just stop...'' he stopped, considering his words. _''Stalking_you, as you put it so flatteringly.''

Kurt's hands clenched around his Styrofoam cup. ''Why not?''

The angel's eyes locked on his. If Kurt had wanted, he could have touched him.

''I can't tell you.''

Kurt refrained the urge to roll his eyes. ''Of course.''

''It's not that I don't want to,'' the angel answered, tone biting cold, ''It's that I can't.''

This was getting confusing.

''Look,'' Kurt said, his own voice not a bit warmer, ''We've already established that you have the faculty to talk, so I see nothing holding you back.''

The angel said nothing, lips set in a thin line. His eyes darkened, gold and green vanishing until there was no light anymore, as if a lid had been pulled over the wells. Kurt wasn't in a position to appreciate the strangeness of this phenomenon, but he couldn't help shivering under his now coal-dark eyes. He took a long sip of his cold coffee, willing himself not to lose his composure.

''Alright, then, I guess I'll see you around?'' he couldn't help but sneer.

What a strange situation. The angel watched him darkly, and Kurt couldn't help but shiver, but not because of the cold. It wasn't fear either. It was something in between, closer to the heart. Loneliness. It emitted from the angel like sun radiated warmth.

Another shiver.  
Kurt took a step back. He could have taken a step forward, laid a hand on his chest. Would his heart be beating? Would his skin be as cool as his eyes?

Another step back.

Before leaving the woods, he couldn't help but cast a glance over his shoulder. The angel stood in the snow, night falling around him like a mother would embrace his child.

There were no stars. Only snow.

Only snow...

_Do you remember, Blaine?_

* * *

Kurt didn't expect to sleep that night. He didn't. Flashes of gorgeous, lonely eyes, pale fingertips and snowflakes melting on darks wings kept rushing behind his closed lids.

* * *

He didn't see the angel again until a few days after the winter break.

Carole was already in bed and Burt still at the garage even though it was getting late. Finn, snoring in the armchair, looked like he was gone for the night. Kurt, comfortably tucked in a blanket, was in a delicious _tête à tête_ with Audrey Hepburn, watching her ''having a nervous breakdown'' in _Charade_and murmuring religiously every line.

Suddenly, the room filled with the scent of snow, and Kurt laid very still. His heart might had missed a beat or two and, for the life of him, he couldn't remember how to breath.

The angel walked slowly to the TV, graceful as a swan, the tips of his large wings brushing the floor. Eyes fixed on the screen, he didn't acknowledge Kurt at first, simply watching the movie, his face unfathomable.

''Who is she?'' he asked after a while, lips barely moving.

Kurt cleared his throat. ''Audrey Hepburn,'' he said, voice low as to not wake Finn. ''Do you... do you know her?''

Would an angel watch Audrey Hepburn's movies?

But the angel shook his head. ''I don't know.''

Kurt raised his eyebrows. ''You don't know?''

The angel turned to him. ''I don't remember.''

Kurt nodded carefully, not quite understanding, but trying too. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take on angel psychology, as they seemed even more twisted than humans. With a sight, he detangled himself from the blanket, and placed it gently on Finn's shoulders (a mumbled ''Thanks, man.'').

The angel followed him to his room and Kurt closed the door behind them. ''How long are you going to follow me?''.

The angel took in the room, from the tiniest book to the well-made bed. He took a few steps towards the vanity, fingers brushing the back of the chair. ''I'm sorry, I can't answer that.''

Kurt half-expected it, but anger still slowly rose through him. ''Tell me what you can then! I'm sorry, but it's not very... polite to follow me around like you do.''

The angel looked at him, head cocked to the side, a small smile tugging at his lips. ''As usually no one can _see_me, I don't bother with such things as politeness. But I have a job to do, whether you like it or not.''

''A job.''

''Yes.''

Kurt didn't even bother to ask what kind of job it was, certain he would still get no answer. ''Just... tell me what is your name, then,'' he said, taking one of his moisturising cream from the angel's hand.

''I don't have one.''

Kurt blinked. ''Ok, then what do I call you?''

''You don't call me anything.''

Kurt rolled his eyes. ''Look, if you're going to stick around for a while, I need to know how to address you.''

The angel was suddenly too close, cool breath caressing Kurt's ear, soft curls brushing his cheek. Unconsciously, Kurt grasped the long dark sleeve with trembling fingers, nose filled with too many scents and heart hammering against his rib cage.

Lips on his ear.

''Shinigami.''


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two! I know a lot of you follow this story, let me know what you think! *wink wink* Thank you Ana. is. Grell for the first review! That was so sweet! 3**

* * *

Kurt let out a shuddering breath, and time stopped; just enough to let the word sink in, slipping in his veins and raising in his throat, tainting his lips with every meaning it carried. Kurt tasted fear and fatality, his entire body shaking in revolt, refusing to let them control him.

He had known. He had known since the first time he had laid his eyes on him. He wasn't stupid. The black wings... The sheer darkness that surrounded the angel... Only Brittany would have been fooled. He simply hadn't wanted to think about it, hadn't wanted to..._understand_, let alone _accept_ it.

He didn't sink to the floor, didn't crumple on himself. There was a storm in his soul, keeping him upright, anchored to Death. He almost smiled; how ironic.

''Will you kill me?'' he asked, voice thick with everything inside him that screamed in refusal.

The angel stepped back -_breathlipshaironhischeek_- slowly, eyes suddenly filled with something akin to pity. ''_I_ won't.''

Kurt lifted his eyes, blue meeting green, gold, and _Death_, _Death_. How could She be so beautiful? ''But...?''

The angel remained silent for a moment, just looking at Kurt, lashes hovering over guarded eyes, as if wondering what was safe to say and what was not. Kurt's grip on his sleeve tightened.

''I'm not here to kill you, nor do I know when your _death__-"_ -he said the word slowly, as if unsure as to what impact it would have on Kurt- "Will occur. I'm here to bring you back with me. Your time will come.'' The angel said then, voice only a murmur.

Kurt closed his eyes, a single tear escaping them and rolling down his cheek, into the neck of his collar.

A whisper: ''I'm sorry.''

Kurt was shaking his head.

''I'm sorry,'' repeated the angel with more force. He sounded sincere.

''Just...shut up.''

Unclenching his fingers, Kurt's arm fell to his side.

''I won't die just because someone tells me I should.''

''It's not your choice to make.''

''It's not yours either!''

Kurt couldn't breathe properly. ''You can't... I won't...''

''Hey...''

There was no air. And so much fear.

''I just...''

He was clawing at his chest, heart beating wild and _hurting_, hurting so much...

''Hey!''

Kurt blinked at him, wide eyed, fingers shaking when he lifted them to his throat. ''When?''

The angel shook his head. ''I've told you...''

But Kurt had had enough of his mysteries. ''When?'' he screamed, voice breaking, not caring if he woke Finn and Carole. This was a nightmare, this was a mistake.

For the first time, the angel lowered his eyes, almost closing them. When he lifted them again, his pupils were almost imperceptible, drowned buy a sea of gold.

Kurt's eyes widened.

The angel's wings were spreading, arching beautifully behind him. Kurt thought about the feather he had found in his locker, and soon it wasn't important anymore, because there were hundreds of feathers surrounding him, closing on him, clouds gathering in the sky.

Night was falling on his mind.

Soon, there was only the soothing glow of the angel's eyes in the dark, soft, _so soft__, _that Kurt ached to lose himself in them. ''I don't want to die.''

Arms around him. Too much gold. A whisper at his temple.

An order: ''Sleep.''

Kurt fell.

* * *

Kurt didn't go to school the next day, or the next. He didn't eat either; didn't do his moisturising routine. What was the use if he was going to die?

He sat on his floor, not in his bed, afraid of falling asleep and never waking up. The angel came and went, but Kurt kept his eyes on his hands, refusing to acknowledge him. He read all of his _Vogue_ magazines, listened to every Broadway soundtrack he owned. He turned off his phone. Just thinking about having to say goodbye to his friends was something he couldn't bear. God, what about _Mercedes_? And Finn? He increased the volume of his iPod until he couldn't hear his thoughts anymore. He was a mess and his room was a mess, but he couldn't care less.

The moment Burt walked into his room, Kurt knew he was going to crumble. His dad didn't say anything, only sat on the edge of his bed, with that look in his eyes that said_ Something is wrong with you and it's killing me inside_. Eyes on his knees, Kurt removed his ear buds, hands trembling only the slightest.

''Care to tell me what's going on?''

Kurt picked at an invisible spot on the carpet, movements jerky, head downcast. He couldn't face his father. He just _couldn't_. Even if he only looked at him, he would lose it. Kurt took a quivering breath, shoulders stiff, heart crying.

_I love you so much. _

''You know, Kurt, I get that you've grown up, that you want to keep things to yourself and I'm okay with that. I understand. But I'm still your dad, and no matter how old you are, I want you to know that you can come to me. Just... don't stay by yourself. That's the worst."

Kurt straightened his back and swallowed his fear.

_Please don't worry._

''I'm okay. I just needed a little time off. I'll go to school tomorrow.''

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of his father's solid body behind him. ''I don't want you to just _go to school_, Kurt. I want you to be _happy_. What happened, kiddo?''

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to cry.

_I love you I love you I love you. _

''Just... the same things, I guess. I needed a break.''

His father squeezed his shoulder, and it was all Kurt could do not to turn around and let everything out, to bury himself in the warmth and the scent and the security of his dad's arms, of his shoulders, to hear him say _It's okay, we'll get through this__,__ I'll hold your hand_.

''Thank you, dad,'' was all he managed to say, voice so small and inaudible that he doubted his father even heard him.

* * *

The next morning, Kurt was at school at eight a.m. sharp, looking fabulous, if not quite as flamboyant as usual, though not at all like he hadn't slept in the past two days. Oh, the magic of cosmetics. As he made his way through the parking lot, the angel fell quietly into step beside him.

''Are you okay?'' The angel asked, eyelashes covering every thought his eyes held.

_Stupid question__.__S__tupid angel_.

''I'm at the ''anger'' step of accepting my death and I'm feeling very violent today, so _back off_.'' Kurt snapped as discreetly as possible, throwing small glances around to see if anyone was paying him any attention.

The angel stiffened, face pale. ''Look, I'm sorry. It's the first time I've had to break the news to someone and I'm aware that, yes, maybe I didn't handle it in the most _sensitive_ way, but...''

Kurt actually _growled_ in the back of his throat as he pushed open the door of the school and warmth hit his face. ''Back. Off. I mean it. I don't want to be seen punching the air. ''

As the angel fell behind him, face closed off, Kurt couldn't help but notice the flash of hurt that crossed his eyes, the sadness that stretched his lips into a thin line. Kurt stopped, muddy snow melting under his boots in dirty puddles, unable to tear his gaze away. The first bell rang and students bustled and scurried around them as they looked at each other, _really_ looked at each other for the first time. The emotions and insecurities Kurt kept locked within himself- he could see them pulsing against the angel's barriers, sometimes achingly raw in the depths of his fixated stare, sometimes only discernable in the broken pride that held him.

''Gonna be late, Hummo!''

The shock and the humiliation knocked the wind out of Kurt. He didn't have time to brace himself for it, and pain shot through his left arm as it was crushed between his body and the lockers. He closed his eyes, feeling a sort of hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest. Shouldn't those idiots be the least of his problems right now? Would he continue to be tormented until his last day? What a joke. What a _pathetic_ joke.

There was a cool touch at his cheek.

Kurt cracked an eye open, weary, clutching his arm to his side, his messenger bag dropped at his feet. ''Are you going to laugh at me?''

The angel's eyes settled on him as he shook his head, hand sliding down Kurt's sore arm carefully, its warmth perceptible even through the heavy fabric of Kurt's coat.

Kurt's breath hitched as the angel's fingers slipped under the hem of the sleeve, a frown forming on his features when they grazed his wrist. ''Take off your coat'', he murmured slowly, walking in the direction of Kurt's locker.

The second bell rang, snapping Kurt out of his reverie.

''I'm going to be late for class,'' he said to no one in particular, but mostly to assure himself of the steadiness of his voice.

The angel hummed in response, leaning against the wall as Kurt worked through the combination of his locker. ''Your first period is French.''

Kurt cast him a curious glance. ''You know my schedule?''

It was the first time that he saw something akin to a smile paint itself on the angel's lips. For a moment, Kurt didn't move, his coat hanging in the air beside the hook.

''Of course I know it. I've been _stalking_ you" -Kurt almost smiled in return- "for a couple of months, after all.''

Then the smile was gone, and the angel tugged at Kurt's sleeve. ''Can I?''

Kurt nodded, mind a little numb. ''Yeah. Yeah.''

He looked on as the angel rolled up Kurt's sleeve gently, wild curls falling into gold eyes. ''What if someone sees?'' Kurt breathed, because they were in a hallway, after all.

''They won't.'' The angel paused. ''They won't see _me_, at least. Only you, talking to the floor. Now shut up and stand still.''

Kurt bit back a comment as soft fingers traced the length of his wrist, drumming along his forearm, soothing the red, angry skin. Instead, he stared at the angel's head, bowed, eyes following the path of his fingers.

''Don't worry, I'm not going to violate you,'' murmured the angel as he lifted Kurt's hand to his lips and _licked_.

Kurt was pretty sure that was a moan, deep in his throat, trying to push its way past his lips. ''Oh, _God_.''

''Not quite true, but thank you.'' The angel smiled -actually _smiled-_- breath puffing over the wet skin.

His tongue darted out again, soft over the bruises, followed by lips that left Kurt's skin prickling and definitely, _definitely_ craving for more.

''Late. I'm going to be _really_ late,'' Kurt wheezed, trying to take his arm back and willing his legs to just move, because this was doing things to his body that he wasn't ready to admit to.

''Almost done...''

So Kurt braced himself against his locker while the angel ravished his arm (''Not ravished,'' the angel would correct him later, ''I was healing you.''), trying to name every single tile on the ceiling after he was done counting to ten and back again.

''There,'' The angel said finally, lips ghosting over the crook of Kurt's elbow. ''So, French?''

''What?'' said Kurt, because there was no bruise on his arm anymore, and the angel kept licking his lips in a very distracting way.

''French.''

''Oh. _Oui_. Yes. _Allons-y (1)_. Let's go.''

''Your book.''

''What? Yes, _mon livre_, _mon livre (2)_.''

When Kurt was all set and his sleeve tugged back into place, he turned resolutely to the angel. ''Don't ever do something like that again without warning me first.''

The angel blinked back at him slowly. ''I did warn you. And I wanted you to remove your shirt completely so that I could have a look at your shoulder too, but I figured you would be too shy.''

Kurt rolled his eyes. Was this angel _serious_?

''It's not that I'm shy, it's that it's inappropriate!''

''Inappropriate?''

''Yes,'' Kurt hammered, ''Inappropriate. Like you following me all the time, but we won't go through _that_ again.''

The angel frowned. ''If you'd have preferred to be in pain for the rest of the-''

''No, no. I _am_ thankful,'' Kurt clarified as he walked down the corridor towards his class, ''Just... don't lick my arm, or any other part of my body, without my permission.''

The angel nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. Kurt rolled his eyes, opening the door of his class.

Mrs. Lavoie greeted him with a robotic ''_Veuillez justifier votre retard (3)_'', handing him the notes for the day. He excused himself, tensing as he suddenly felt the breath of the angel on his neck, the warmth of his too-close body against his back.

''Just so you know: you tasted delicious.''

And every word of French that Kurt knew flew right out of the window.

* * *

1. Yes. Let's go.

2. My book, my book.

3. Justify your lateness.


	3. Chapter 3

Special thanks to **Ana. is. Grell**, **malevolent. angel** and **ksg814slash** for your reviews, you guys are awesome! 3 I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

* * *

Kurt spent the rest of the day surrounded by his very emotional friends.

''Finn wouldn't say anything...''

''I didn't _know_ anything!''

''...ridiculous as you live in the same house...''

''...couldn't reach you on your cell phone...''

''...didn't even come to Glee club...''

''...thought you were sick...''

''...worried to death...''

''...are you okay?''

He answered their questions with rehearsed _I'm fine_s and _Just a little tired_s, hating that he had to lie to his friends, but would they even believe him if he told them the truth? Instead, he savoured every second he spent with them, drinking in their craziness and every single thing that made them _them_.

After lunch, he and Mercedes received slushie facials, and Kurt almost laughed out loud. Really; what a pitiful way to spend his last days.

''Aren't you tired of all this?'' the angel asked with a slight frown, as Kurt was washing the sticky syrup from his hair.

''Of what?'' Kurt said without really paying attention, water running down his neck in little crimson rivulets and soaking up his towel.

The angel seemed to barely notice the two guys that burst into the bathroom. ''Of _this_? This school, these people,'' He eyed the two boys coldly as they kept snickering and throwing amused looks at Kurt. ''Of this town?''

Kurt waited until the boys were done mocking him and doing whatever they had come to do, only allowing himself to look at the angel once the door had shut behind them. ''Of course I'm tired,'' he murmured, rubbing at his hair with another towel while rummaging through his emergency bag.

The angel crossed his arms, curly head titling to the side, resting one hip against the counter. ''Why are you staying, then? Don't you want to see or do anything before...before it's time to go?''

Kurt paused, fingers tight around his comb, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold water. ''Can't you tell me anything about that?'' he asked in a low voice, eyes fixed on his pale reflection.

His eyes met the angel's through the glass, heart lurching in his chest, lungs constricting around precious- _oh,_ _so precious-_ air. Funny how he'd become acutely aware of his own body these past few days. He would often close his eyes just to _feel_, palm flat against his chest, the distinctive _ba-dump_ of his heart, loud and strong and reassuring. _Are you the one who is going to betray me?_ He wanted to ask. Would he be hit by a car instead? Drown? Burn in a fire?

He would have at least liked to go with a flourish.

''Will I die alone?''

A sad smile softened the angel's features as he shook his head, taking a small step to stand behind Kurt.

Kurt couldn't help the slight shudder that ran through his body as the angel rested hesitant, barely-there hands on his hips, wings extending until they were reaching each opposite wall.

''See?'' murmured the angel as he rested his forehead against Kurt's still damp hair.

Kurt sagged a little against him, eyes drifting to the reflection of the giant wings that now seemed to grow out of his own back, glistering like black stars.

The angel's fingers pressed into the fabric of his shirt. Funny how _licking_ and_ touching_ seemed to hold different meanings, Kurt thought numbly.

''You're not... alone anymore. You'll never be. Because I'm bound to you until the end.''

Kurt wasn't sure it was such a reassuring prospect, but the angel was sighing into his hair, arms coming around his waist to hold him loosely, and Kurt couldn't help but think _I wish I could have met you before. Before the end._

* * *

He didn't see the angel again until his last period, when he slipped in the class without anyone so much as raising a brow in his direction. Kurt shifted in his seat, shoulders straightening and pencil tapping against his notebook. The angel strode past him, leaving a scent of fresh snow in his wake, bending over Allison Creed's notes, head inches away from hers.

''This seems pretty boring...''

Kurt brushed invisible dust from his sleeve before resuming his tapping, decidedly _not _looking at him, focusing on his teacher's voice instead, his bad taste for fashion...

''Seriously, what is the use of knowing all these formulas? Are you even going to use them someday?''

_Obviously not_, Kurt thought with a twitch of his fingers.

''Sorry,'' the angel added quickly, as if reading his thoughts.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder, but froze when he caught the confused look Tina was throwing him. He massaged his shoulder briefly, mouthing ''Lockers. Hurts a bit,'' before scribbling an incomprehensible note in his book, a blush creeping up his neck. Thank god for scarves. He was going to have to watch himself, though. It was so easy to forget that he was the only one able to see the angel, as bizarre as it was.

The period passed slowly, with Kurt tensing every time the angel strolled by. To his upmost relief, the angel finally perched himself on an unoccupied desk in the last row, head resting against the cool glass of the window behind him, golden eyes lazily scanning the room.

Kurt finally let his shoulders sag a little.

''You look like there's something up your...''

Mr. Simpson's chalk squealed on the blackboard.

''Miss _Lopez_.''

''Just sayin','' Santana murmured, examining her nails. She gave Kurt an intent look once Mr. Simpson had resumed his explanations.

Kurt gave her his best bitch face in return.

* * *

Geography was slightly better.

That was, until...

''The answer is 2 D.''

Kurt clutched his pencil hard when the angel's breath hit his ear, toes curling in his shoes.

God, what was _wrong_ with him?

* * *

They were watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ when Kurt asked if he was going to Heaven or to Hell. He had never seen the angel look more puzzled.

''Heaven or He- right. Forget about that. Forget about all you've ever learned, none of that exists.''

Kurt was stunned into silence.

''I'm serious. We call it the Open Land. Once you cross the gate you just..." -the angel averted his eyes and fixed his gaze on the screen- "...dissolve into nothing,'' he finished softly.

There was nothing comforting about this thought. If Kurt was honest to himself he'd say he was scared to death, no pun intended.

''You haven't killed anyone, or at least it's not in your record, so why would you go to Hell?'' the angel asked after a while, snapping Kurt out of his not-so-merry thoughts.

''Look, I don't know where you've been the last few hundred years, but it's a very well known fact that the Big Guy up there, if there even is one, doesn't think too highly of gay p...''

The angel rolled his eyes. ''Oh, come on. This is bullshit. It's all human crap.''

Kurt gasped. ''Wait, is there...? A Big Guy?''

The angel frowned. ''I don't know about that. If you're talking about a white-bearded man lazing in the clouds, then no, there isn't. But there might be _something_.'' He shrugged. ''I don't know. My quarters aren't there, and I've never bothered with that.''

''Your _quarters_? Do you have to take the afterlife subway to go to work every morning?'' Kurt teased, quirking an eyebrow. The vision was almost enough to make him laugh.

The angel's lips quirked into a small smile. ''Very funny. Yes, I have quarters. Did you think that I spent all my time down here babysitting you?''

''Yes.'' Kurt said without even thinking about it.

After all, he _was_ there all the time.

The angel chuckled –_chuckled_. The sound delighted Kurt.

''But wait, you said 'quarters'. How many _Shinigami_ are there?''

The angel shrugged. ''A couple of dozen? I don't really know. I'm not there that often, but I see a few of them each time I go back to give a report.''

Kurt didn't know how to react to that. ''You give reports? About me?''

''They're pretty strict on that. If something goes wrong, if something happens to you before you were planned to go, it's a real nightmare. Lots of paperwork. So they make sure that nothing goes amiss. It's always the same routine.''

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that they were talking about his death as if it were just another appointment at the dentist.

''Of course. Lots of paperwork.''

The last tiny bubble of hope that he had kept within him finally burst.

His mother wouldn't be waiting for him. There would be literally _nothing_ waiting for Kurt.

They watched the rest of the movie in silence, Kurt sagging considerably more against the pillows as the evening wore on. At one point, the angel moved so that Kurt's head was on his shoulder; deliberately or not, Kurt wasn't sure.

''I'm sorry,'' The angel said, not really paying any attention to the movie either.

Kurt shook his head without saying a word, a single tear escaping his vigilant facade and dropping on the dark fabric covering the angel's shoulder.

Before going to bed, Kurt began a long list of healthy recipes that he would slip in Carole's purse. If he wasn't going to meet his dad after his death, then he didn't want him to pass the gate until his face was shrivelled with wrinkles and he'd seen the six grand-children that Finn and Rachel were going to give him grow into beautiful adults.

''I only have one favor,'' he said to the angel after putting his pen down. The angel nodded, rearranging his wings as he settled at the foot of the bed for his night watch.

''Would you-'' he cleared his throat, eyes unfocused, not realizing the pen had rolled down onto the carpet.

''I don't know if you're even going to be in town for the next few decades,'' he babbled, tugging unconsciously at the sleeves of his pajamas, ''But would you- not look after them, but maybe check on them? Once in a while?''

He was biting his lips, drawing blood but not noticing. He didn't need to specify who _them_ was.

The angel stared at Kurt for a while, before nodding, slowly.

Kurt let his eyes fall back on the list, hands and knees shaking. ''Thank you,'' he said to the piece of paper.

_Eat well, don't work too hard, laughing is good for your heart. I love you. -Kurt_

* * *

''I can't believe they're wasting all of your time on me.''

It was Sunday evening, and Kurt had just gotten back from a Barbra song-marathon at Rachel's. After a whole day spent with the girl in full diva mode, needless to say, he was exhausted, and not exactly thrilled when he found the angel waiting for him in his room.

''How they use my time is up to them,'' replied the angel from his usual spot on the floor, without even opening his eyes.

Kurt flopped down on his bed with a sigh. ''I guess there isn't much time left, then...'' he said tightly.

It wasn't meant as a question. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

They angel opened his eyes. ''No.''

Kurt blinked at the ceiling, hard, trying to just _breathe_. He had spent the last few weeks expecting Death to come at him at any moment. Time spent with his family and his friends wasn't taken for granted anymore- it was a luxury. ''I think I'll even miss Rachel,'' he blurted out, before realising that he wouldn't be able to miss anyone.

''I think I'll miss you, Kurt.''

_Kurt_. It was the first time the angel had said his name.

Kurt propped himself on his elbows, blinking back tears.

''Why?'' he asked after a moment, meaning _Am I not only a name on a list for you?_ Meaning _Won't you forget me like you forgot the others, like you forgot yourself?_

The angel tilted his head, fingers drumming slowly against his knee. ''Because...,'' he said, voice somehow rough, ''because of _this_.''

''This?'' Kurt repeated with a tiny smile. ''You'll miss my soft carpet?''

The angel slid his legs under him, sitting in front of him, eyes shockingly fervent. ''I don't usually get to... know my charges. I just - It was nice to... talk to you.'' he finished softly, the familiar forlornness even more apparent than usual, wings drooping low to the ground, shoulders slightly hunched.

Kurt realised how lonely he must have been all this time, walking among them but not_ with_ them, never one of them. And he'd still be lonely after Kurt had gone. He swallowed down the bitterness of it all, of wanting to belong, but not fitting in. At least Kurt knew who he was. He had himself to protect. What do you have to protect, to cherish, when you don't even have a name? The angel was only a messenger, a wanderer, a collector of souls.

Kurt slid from the bed, never breaking their gaze. He squatted down in front of the angel, forearms crossed over his knees; he let his chin rest on them. ''I'm glad we met,'' he said in a murmur, heart aching and snow-crisp scent surrounding him.

He watched as the angel's eyes flickered closed, as his chest rose in a shudder, as if breathing for the first time. The feathers of his wings rippled under an invisible wind.

''Kurt?''

Kurt made an interrogative noise, the corner of his mouth raising in a true smile this time.

_Call my name again._

The angel opened his eyes, now flecked with gold and glistening with something akin to hope. ''Would you hold me?''

Kurt couldn't say no, couldn't say _You're supposed to take me away, I should be afraid_, could only nod and embrace Death. The smell of snow was dizzying, making him shuffle closer and closer until he could bury his face in the angel's neck, inhale the coldness, feel how there was no heart beating against his, how cool the skin was against his cheek. He hold him tighter, feeling arms coming around his back and fingers clutching at his shirt.

_You're not... alone anymore. You'll never be. Because I'm bound to you until the end. _

''You're not alone either,'' Kurt said against the dark fabric, the feathers of the angel's wings brushing against his forehead in a soft caress.

A shiver ran through the angel's body, one that made Kurt's own skin erupt in goose bumps.

''I think I am, Kurt.''

Kurt couldn't think of anything he could say to contradict him.

That night, after watching a game with his father -''That's a first, you okay, kiddo?''-, he slipped into bed, bone-deep tired, but still feeling the fear creeping up on him, like it did each night.

''Could you come here?'' he asked in the dark, because he knew he would be heard.

When the scent of snow filled the room, he let out a deep breath, relaxing back into his pillows. ''Could you...?'' he asked extending his hand.

When the angel took it -such cool fingers-, he tugged at him until he relented and lay down next to him.

''I'm going to miss you too,'' he mumbled, already half-gone, but he still felt the wing come over him like a blanket.

Keeping fear and Death at bay.

* * *

When Kurt woke up, it was still dark outside, the cold hour before dawn, and he was feeling strangely... calm. Like he was in the eye of the storm, chaos all around him. The angel was sitting on the other side of the bed, knees drawn up to his chin. Kurt let his fingers glide over the ribbons wound around his ankles and curling on the sheets. They were not as soft as his feathers.

''Hey,'' he murmured, twisting on the bed so he was facing him.

That was it.

''Hey,'' the angel whispered back, voice a little hoarse.

''Did you get any sleep?''

The angel shook his head, eyes disappearing behind the mass of his curls. ''We don't need to.''

''Useful,'' Kurt mused aloud, fingers moving to the pale foot, tracing bones as if reading in Braille, as if he could read the angel like he could read a book.

The angel didn't tense under his touch. Instead, he followed the path of Kurt's fingers with an unreadable expression, but not shying away from the touch. ''I want to show you something,'' he said after a while, when Kurt had closed his eyes again and inched a bit closer, hand resting on his foot.

He just wanted to forget for a while.

Kurt cracked one eye open, letting a sigh slip past his lips when the angel reached out hesitantly and threaded the tips of his fingers through Kurt's hair. There was something so disarmingly sweet and unexpected about the gesture that Kurt didn't dare to move, to question it.

''Promise me not to freak out.''

''I don't think I could ever freak out again. Too much freaking out recently,'' Kurt mumbled, but his heart gave a thud.

The tip of one finger brushed the shell of his ear, distracting him.

''You're amazing.''

Kurt looked up at the angel, peacefulness entirely gone. ''There is nothing admirable about dying.''

The hand stopped.

''I won't let you die.''

Kurt's heart stopped too. ''Wha-''

''I have to show you something,'' the angel said again, but urgently, tugging Kurt out of the bed and pulling him to the window.

He raised his palm to Kurt's eyes, angled it in the faint light. Running along the nonexistent line of life, was a number.

''Eight,'' the angel murmured. ''Eight hours.''

Kurt stumbled back, world spinning around him and panic raising. Despite the certainty with which he had awoken, it suddenly felt all too real. There was a hand on his arm, but he batted it away. ''I'm going to die in eight hours, I'm going to die _today_, I'm going to- hey!"

The angel's wings had begun to expand behind his back and to come around Kurt, eyes turning a hypnotic gold. Kurt knew that it meant sleep and oblivion and peacefulness.

''I can't sleep now, I can't sleep anymore because I only have eight hours left to live and I shouldn't... I shouldn't...''

''Kurt,'' whispered the angel in a broken voice.

''What should I do?'' he asked, dumbfounded and still trying to regain his footing, to make sense of things, now that nothing made sense anymore.

He was certain there were ugly spasms running through his face and he was uncontrollably shaking, teeth clattering and hands numb.

''What do I do?'' he asked again, voice small and desperate, even though he had promised himself he would not be.

Except that there was nothing to do. Nothing but to wait, and to let himself be taken.

The angel spoke softly, eyes locking with Kurt's. He took a step toward him, so that he could press his forehead against Kurt's. ''I told you. I won't let you die.''

Kurt closed his eyes, whimpered brokenly. ''Don't-''

''I won't. I won't,'' the angel whispered over and over again.

Kurt clutched at him, sobs racking silently through his body.

''I won't, Kurt.''

''You can't promise that.''

''I am!'' His hands came to rest on Kurt's cheeks, thumbs catching each new tear. ''Just... trust me. Trust me with this, ok?''

Kurt nodded jerkily, eyes wide and fingers digging into the angel's back, knuckles brushing against the base of his wings.

_What will it cost you?_

* * *

Kurt Hummel was supposed to die on a cold February afternoon. Clouds, heavy with snow, were looming over Mckinley High. There were no birds singing, only the haunting lament of the wind. He was supposed to die under another boy's hands, the boy too scared of himself and of the world around him. It was supposed to be an accident, too much pressure around Kurt's neck so that he wouldn't scream under the boy's lips. Instead, when Karofsky cornered him after school, lust and despair in his eyes and so much hatred for himself, he couldn't place his hands around Kurt's neck. He didn't see the _Shinigami_'s shadow draping over him, didn't feel the cold fury slowly closing around his heart. He saw Kurt's widening eyes as his vision grew dim, saw his pale hand reaching for him as he slid to the ground.

_Do you remember, Blaine, that no bird sang that day? Do you remember the gray of the sky, the elegance of the bare trees? I remember you. Dark against the virgin snow, eyes speaking of wonders unseen and unheard of. _

_I remember you. _

* * *

There were days when Kurt asked himself if it had all been a dream, a terrible, terrible dream. But then, he would pass Karofsky in the hallways, his body almost screaming _fear,_ and he would not see the angel, but the _Shinigami,_ the messenger of death, wrapping the confused teenager in his wrath.

"_Don't kill him_!" He had screamed.

"_A life for another life_," the _Shinigami_ had answered, voice like ice and eyes blazing, his deathly shadow bringing Karofsky to his knees, foam on his lips.

Kurt had begged. He had pleaded.

Karfosky's lips had begun to turn blue.

"_I don't have the right to ask for his life so I can live mine."_ Kurt had finally said, laying a hand on the _Shinigami_'s arm.

There had been a snap in the air, and Karofsky lay on the ground, panting.

"_Are you sure_?" the Shinigami had murmured softly, eyes not leaving Karofsky's twitching form.

"_Yes." _

The _Shinigami _had nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

"_Okay_," he had finally said, as if coming to a decision, "_okay_."

He had turned to Kurt, eyes now the familiar shade of whiskey-gold. "_You won't regret this?"_

Kurt had let his hand drop along the _Shinigami_'s arm until he could twine their fingers together.

"_Kurt-"_

"_I won't ever regret this."_

There had been a kiss, the first and the last. There had been trembling lips and caressing fingertips. There had been no promises. Except...

"_I will never forget you, Shinigami."_

There had been a smile pressing against the corner of his mouth. _My name is Blaine._

* * *

_Do you remember, Blaine?_


	4. Epilogue

**Here is the epilogue, I hope you enjoyed the whole story :)  
**

* * *

Dalton was nothing like McKinley, Kurt thought as he eyed above the rim of his glasses the sea of students almost jumping down the stairs. For once, nobody had leered at him with disgust, or thrown him against one of the luxurious tables. Nobody had-

Wait.

The crisp smell of snow, like the call of a whistle that you hear in the distance.

Kurt froze.

No curls, no wings, but wearing a helmet of gel and the Dalton blazer like a second skin.

''Blaine,'' Kurt breathed out. ''Excuse me!'' he called out, louder, resisting the urge to throw himself at the painfully familiar boy as he passed him by, oblivious.

The boy turned around, readjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Warm eyes, specks of honey and green catching the light.

Kurt blinked slowly, feeling his breath catch somewhere deep in his lungs. ''Um,'' he stammered, ''Can I ask you a question? I'm- I'm new here.''

The boy smiled, extended his hand.

Kurt had never seen the _Shinigami_ smile without it being tinted with sadness before.

''My name's Blaine.''

_I know._

For a moment, Kurt was only able to stare in shock, trying to drink in every single detail of the boy-_Blaine_-'s face. He finally snapped out of his trance, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

''Kurt.''

He took Blaine's offered hand, trying not to grip too hard, not wanting to ever let go.

_A life for another life._

Kurt's heart settled. It was like coming home.


End file.
